Once, There Was This One Time
by Jace22
Summary: Once, there was this one time, when Boone's plane crashed and he ended up stranded on an island. BooneJack, BooneShannon


Fandom: Lost  
Title: Once, There Was This One Time...  
Pairing: Boone/Jack, Boone/Shannon  
Rating: R  
Summary: Once, there was this one time, when Boone's plane crashed and he ended up stranded on an island.  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Lost. Well, a lot of things I own are lost, but I don't own the show. No. If I did you could bet your bottom dollar that Boone would be near naked in every scene. Ever. Charlie too.  
Notes: So, I love Lost. It's fab fab fab, and now I want to write many a fic for it. Since this is my first time, however, I'm not sure if chracterazation is right etc etc, so feedback would be wonderful.  
Spoilers: Look, I've only seen four episodes, (well, 5, but I'm not counting the new one right now.) so there really aren't that many I don't think. Most of the world is spoiling me.

Once, There Was This One Time…

Once, there was this one time, when Boone's plane crashed and he ended up stranded on an island. Only, it wasn't like those questions they ask in the magazines that Shannon always reads—if you were stranded on an island with one person, who would it be? If you could choose one item of luxury to take with you, what would it be? If you had to procreate with one person, who would it be? If you could be stranded with one member from Driveshaft, who would it be?—because if it was like that then Boone would definitely have chosen Angelina Jolie (hello, Tomb Raider?), toothpaste (maybe condoms), Uhm, Jack, but that's sort of not possible, so, Kate because she's hot (their kids would be too hot for this island), and definitely still Charlie because he's pretty awesome.

X

Boone sneaks under Jack's blanket at night. He wonders how someone can be so dirty, but be so clean. He smells like rain and tastes a little bit like blood when Boone presses his lips against his. He's allowed to do this now, he tells himself, because this isn't the first night he's done this anymore.

If Shannon has been waking up to find him gone, she's used to it by now, and she doesn't say anything—which is weird for Shannon, because normally she never misses a chance to throw something back in his face. Then again she's probably just saving this for the right time. For when he tells her to do some work.

He can picture it now, "Shannon," He'll say, "You're not doing a fucking thing, you're just sitting their painting your _toes_." Then she'll retort with something like, "Oh go fuck Jack," Only it will be much more witty and Shanonnish when the time actually comes.

Sometimes he wishes he could get into her brain and find out what's going on in there.

X

One time when Boone was half-asleep, listening to the sound of his mother hiss—not yell. Never yell—at his father, Shannon crept into his room and sat by his bed, his hand in hers. She hadn't said anything, but she'd rested her head against his bed and, he'd assumed, fallen asleep.

The next morning Boone woke up and saw the spot where her head at been resting. She was gone, and he didn't see her much for the rest of the week, and when he did she looked away like he was a bleeding wound.

He wondered how she could have possibly seen that in him. Hadn't he used a Band-Aid to hide his cuts and scrapes? His wants and needs? He'd been so careful. Boone didn't understand how she could know that he was bleeding underneath the bandages.

Or maybe they had just begun to peel away without him knowing. The warm water of the shower making everything wet and loose and fragile.

X

Jack is Boone's hero. He can't help it if maybe sometimes he looks at him with adoration or worship. Everyone here is guilty of doing that. Even Sawyer, who could also be Boone's hero, who could be the most handsome guy Boone's seen in a long time, if he wasn't such an asshole.

Boone would gather a thousand pens from wherever he could. If they hadn't burned it, he would have braved the plane and dug through the people's pockets—just like Sawyer did—ignoring the stench of the dead, just to bring anything to Jack that would deem Boone worthwhile in his eyes.

_Look at me_. Boone sometimes says wordlessly. Using his hands and lips and skin to coax some sort of acknowledgment from Jack. This is the best way Boone knows how to be useful to him.

Sometimes Jack walks off on his own and Boone wants desperately to follow him, to talk about his past, to tell him everything dark and terrifying inside him. All the things he thinks might eventually break him. But he never does.

Jack doesn't see him enough to rely on him, depend on him, but Jack sees him enough for Boone to be a burden on him. An imposition on his time alone. Boone doesn't know if he'd yet be capable of walking in silence with Jack. Not when there's so much to say.

He wants to tell Jack that he sees beauty on this island. A peace from everything that's bad in his life—which sounds pathetic coming from a young, pretty, rich-boy—a place where he died and can be whoever he wants to be.

Boone wants to hear Jack say it. That they died. That he can be free now.

Boone wants something.

X

Once, there was this one time, when he woke up to find Shannon wriggling under his covers, pressing her fingers against his lips, her eyes closed—or maybe just open a little so she could see what she was doing, but be blind enough to fool herself.

"We're just step-siblings." She said matter of factly, even though they'd been raised as siblings. They were supposed to be there for one another, supposed to banter and scream and laugh and fight, not fuck. Kissing and touching (and sometimes more) weren't supposed to be part of that equation.

Somehow no matter what they added, though, it always seemed to end with one of those.

"I don't like math." Boone said to her one day when he was thinking about math and how it was easier than thinking about the guilty feeling that started in the center of his stomach and spread out everywhere in his body.

"Okay, whatever. Just shut up and look pretty, you do that pretty well." She snorted.

"Fuck you."

Not so good choice of words with Shannon. Sometimes she took things too literally. She could twist any words into something she wanted.

X

Boone knows Shannon misses her world of glitter and glotz. Her world filled with sparkly things like diamonds in the sky. She misses shopping and milkshakes and then the not eating for days after she's had the milkshake, her friends who she could throw away like disposable cameras. Handbags, purses, sunglasses, oil slicked over her body, sunbathing with the radio blaring.

He knows Shannon and he knows that everything looks shinier, better, in her mind than it really was.

"Memories always look better." She said to him once, but she was drunk and surprisingly docile at the time, so he's never mentioned it to her again even though he'd like to talk to her about it.

He'd kind of like to talk to Jack about it too. Boone wonders what Jack remembers and if it looks better in hindsight. He wonders what Jack's left behind.

X

It's a real shame Shannon didn't have someone like her on the plane. Well, someone who she could connect to, at least. Someone who she'd listen to, get up for, do things for. They could cuddle up on the sand and giggle and fool themselves into thinking that soon they'd be rescued. They would promise that when they were rescued they'd call each other every single day (Best friends for ever! BFFL!) and they'd e-mail, and write, whatever. Maybe not write, though, because, like, who wrote letters anymore? And they'd fly out to see each other, unless of course, imaginary girl—who Boone likes to call Veronica—turned out to live close by them in a shocking turn of events. In which there would be much girl-squealing and hugging.

Maybe Shannon would turn out to be a lesbian. A very repressed girl who had tendencies to make-out with and grope her step-brother ( who was supposed to just be her brother) in an attempt to be, well, unrepressed. Or something to that extent.

That would probably solve a lot of Boone's problems. Or maybe create more, Boone's never quite sure how these things will work out.

X

"You know, a lot of people think fucking on the beach is really romantic." Boone says to Jack one night. There are a million things he could have said besides that, but sometimes it doesn't matter what you say, just that you said _something_. 

"And what do you think?" Jack asks.

"Oh, I dunno, I guess. I mean, you know. I thought…" Boone trails off, feeling stupid and wondering why he'd mentioned that. Why couldn't he just have stayed there feeling the weight of Jack's hand on his stomach, the heat of his skin?

But Jack is smiling at him which is better than any kiss—well, right now at least. He wouldn't trade Jack kissing him for Jack just smiling at him. That would kind of suck and be a little frustrating—and Boone returns the smile.

He dreams of water against his toes and Jack's hand in his. But maybe he's not dreaming at all.

X

Jack asks about Shannon and Boone and their life and somehow Boone manages to slip out how he and Shannon are messed up, weird, how they can't seem to ever get their relationship right, in order. How there's no way to categorize it. How it's wrong and beautiful and sinful and pure all at once. How in some ways nothing is wrong with it, technically speaking, and how in other ways it's probably one of the most wrong things, like, ever, as Shannon would say.

Boone wasn't going to say anything about it to Jack, or anyone, he swears, but there was no way to tell about his life before the island without including that, it seemed. Anything else would have been a lie, or a too carefully concealed truth, and sometimes those are worse.

"So, is there any medicine for this? A cure?" Boone asks flatly.

"Maybe, I'm not so sure." Jack smiles faintly and kisses Boone gently, and Boone thinks maybe there is something too special about Jack. Maybe there's something healing in his kisses and hands that everyone else around can sense and that's why they flock to him so easily, so instinctively.

_Sometimes, when I'm with you, I don't feel so fucked up. And that's like the best thing ever._ Boone thinks, but then he realizes that part of his voice, the way he speaks, sounds like Shannon, and that sort of sucks, but then he kisses Jack again because sometimes you just have to trust your instincts.

Once, there was this one time, when Boone kissed a girl named Samantha at a party and the next day Shannon got into a fight with her—supposedly because Samantha had been trashing her behind her back—and she'd ended up bitch slapping her. It had kind of rocked at the time, but Boone hopes that doesn't happen again.

Shannon would look kind of pathetic bitch-slapping Jack. And then Jack might not spare any of his magical healing powers on her when she needs them.

End


End file.
